Dance With Me
by augustblueee
Summary: Colonel Roy Mustang can't tie a tie and Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye can't refuse a dance. Things feel too intimate and just intimate enough all at the same time. (royai with little hints of edwin, posted on tumblr. one-shot.)


Roy Mustang doesn't have the most nimble fingers.

Then again, considering the factors of this situation, perhaps not having nimble fingers isn't the problem at hand. He is the sole flame alchemist in the Amestrian military, he led a coup d'etat against the government and the homunculi, and he even learned to read braille from his time without his eyesight.

But for the _life_ of him, Roy Mustang cannot get a bowtie to work with his damn fingers.

He fiddles with the tie, working one side carefully and looping one wing over the other. It slips through his fingers. He groans loudly and considers ditching the bow tie completely.

It'd be hard to get that to work at a military ball, though.

A frustrated noise comes from his throat in the form of a mangled growl and he steps out of the room and into the corridor outside in a huff. The lamplight is dim and soft, casting a warm glow. In the ballroom little mindless, muffled chatter can be heard.

When his gaze lands on Riza there waiting for him he silently thanks whatever higher power there is that she wears her uniform so often around him, because the way she stands there now, dressed in silk and sheer and softly glittering beads, can't be described as anything less than ethereal. Any flirtatious teasing he'd had prepared to say to her when he'd seen her dressed formally slips back down his throat in a mangled mess of awe and nervousness.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye." His tongue doesn't sit right in his mouth. He gulps.

Her dress is a dusty pink with sheer sleeves hanging loosely off the curves of her shoulders. The sheer follows down, trailing behind her wonderfully and pooling there on the floor, with her legs just barely peeking from the opening of the front. Beads follow intricate trails over her slender midriff and just under the layer of sheer covering her legs is a layer silk.

From her ears are little dangling teardrop crystals and around her neck is a chain with a similar stone. Her hair falls in waves on her shoulders, down and around her neck wonderfully, with one side pinned behind her ear.

"Colonel?" He makes note of the light stain of red on her lips.

"Yes?"

"Why aren't you wearing your tie?"

A defeated, very ashamed groan comes from him. "I can't seem to tie it."

Riza laughs behind her hand, trying to cover it up with a cough when he turns to her with the tie in hand and a confused pout on his face. She takes it from him and wraps it around his neck gently, working her fingers smoothly and quickly. The motions are somewhat practiced.

"You're hopeless, Colonel." It sounds like scolding but her smile afterwards is much too tender to be considered as such.

"You make me wonder how many men you've done this for, _Hawkeye_." He frowns childishly, looking down at her and her handiwork.

The joke is not appreciated.

She glares at him. "If you must know"—her fingers tug the knot to perfection—"I used to tie my father's ties for him."

What she doesn't tell him is that she'd prepared for this. He seems to understand it regardless.

The chance to take him in doesn't slip by so easily. She backs away and fidgets with the edges of the bowtie a little bit, then lets her fingers smooth his suit, lets them brush away the little wrinkles he'd no doubt left in his hastiness. The feel of him breathing under her hands is welcome and soothes any uneasiness she'd had about the event tonight.

When Roy looks down at her, both puzzled and pleasant, she backs away and looks to the floor.

Instead of provoking her for it he reaches his hand out. Curiously, she stares at his open palm, brow quirked. Somehow her hand seems to move on its own and glides over his. Calloused fingers curl around her own and before she can protest he lifts it to his lips to brush against the top of her hand, if only briefly, and so faint she wonders if she imagined it.

The grin across his lips is an indication that she did not, in fact, imagine it.

" _Colonel_." She mumbles this and bites her cheek after. His head tilts back and he chuckles.

"I couldn't help myself, lieutenant." A breath of silence brings her eyes up to meet his. His voice drops a bit. "You look lovely," and his smile is so honest and heartfelt she knows he means it from somewhere deeper than an off handed compliment. He wants to say more. Riza Hawkeye is breathtaking, stunning, alluring, _jaw-droppingly beautiful_.

"You clean up rather nicely yourself, sir." She beams at him.

His arm curls into hers, one hand resting in the crook of his elbow, and in turn her other free hand reaching up, clinging more to his jacket than his arm.

"We should do things like this more often, Hawkeye."

"While that sounds enjoyable, I don't think military balls held quite so _often_ are within the Fuhrer's budget, sir."

He feigns disappointment at her words.

When they step into the grand hall, they are greeted by their many friends made over the years, including Edward and his fiancée, Winry, matching with one another in a baby blue that compliments the automail engineer's eyes, and Gracia Hughes and her daughter. Havoc, Feury, Falman and Breda are scattered about the hall and make their way over to greet the pair as they find them from across the room. Major Armstrong is as flashy as ever and compliments both Roy and Riza. All of their comrades and friends and allies have gathered and it brings out something proud and ambitious in Roy Mustang.

Upon finding their table, the colonel pulls his lieutenant's chair out for her to sit and quickly takes the spot next to her, as if someone were to take it from him if he didn't.

He hands Riza a glass of champagne, tapping his glass against hers cheekily. Her thumb strokes over the hand hidden out of sight resting on his leg for a moment, then shooting him a warm smile before pulling it back to her side.

They make small talk, discussing things both in and outside of their line of work, preferring to stick to the casual at an event like this. Winry and Edward make several trips to their table, their playful banter always made with Winry's arm linked with her fiance's, and his teasing accompanied by affectionate laughter. They admire the two with almost parental endearment.

Before long, one of Winry's appearances leads to her practically begging the lieutenant to join her in her festivities.

"Dance with me!"

Riza waves her away—or at least attempts to—making a comment about not being much of a dancer and having two left feet. As stubborn as Winry is, Riza is that and more, making a comment about Ed missing his date. Winry grins wide, mischief twinkling in her eyes.

"Well, I'm not much of a leader, so maybe it's best if you have someone _else_ lead for you," and she glides away in a whirl of blue, finding Ed and bringing him back to the open floor to dance with her. They're pressed against one another intimately, the spitting image of happy lovers, Winry looking up at him fondly and Ed grinning widely at her.

The lieutenant shoots her superior a certain look. "If you ask me to dance—"

"Ah, you read my mind, lieutenant!"

A sigh escapes her. He rises to his feet and holds out his open palm again, this time gripping her a little tighter when her fingertips find his.

"Dance with me."

"Is that an order?"

He smiles reassuringly. "No. You're always free to refuse."

She tells herself that the lack of uniforms and work hours, the champagne, and her accompanying him tonight have made them all the more bold.

Though not nearly as intimate as the to-be-wedded pair, their dancing feels far too intimate. Her hand on his shoulder rests there more comfortably than when they'd first linked arms, feeling for his body rather than his suit. When his own hand finds her bare shoulder, it feels both strangely familiar and foreign, stirring something in them that they'd sworn to bury and tuck away within themselves years ago.

Fingers couple into each other, almost pushing away from where they meet to keep appropriate distance between them. They sway together, side to side, the band playing a slowed, quiet tune, their feet never stumbling on one another.

"Here I thought you had two left feet, lieutenant."

"I have two left feet when I don't have someone to _lead_ me." His ears don't miss the lilt to her voice. She looks at him, a little amused, humming a laugh and exhaling through her nose. He dips her back and then toward him again. A smirk plays on his features.

"Did you learn to dance somewhere I'm also unaware of, Hawkeye?"

Riza hums. "No. This I'd prepared for."

"You know me too well."

She muses that maybe they _should_ do things like this more often.


End file.
